


refresh

by kungpaochicken (xiaojidiing)



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 13:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15641697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiaojidiing/pseuds/kungpaochicken
Summary: It's been a while since he's seen Zhangjing.





	refresh

**Author's Note:**

> this is the fic i wrote to procrastinate on another fic i'm writing to procrastinate on my homework. send help. 
> 
> little bit of context: some kind of fantasy or whatever, yanjun got exiled and isn't supposed to visit zhangjing, zhangjing runs a potions shop or something
> 
> unedited, disgusting, i don't know how to write kisses, i was almost too embarrassed to post this, sorry this is so bad your eyes might bleed

 

 

Yanjun wraps his cloak tighter around himself, lets his feet follow a path they’ve taken so many times before. He doesn’t have much time. Twilight slips from his grasp like water draining out of cupped hands and try as he might, he cannot pull it back.

Every step he takes leaves his skin on fire, his heart beating a heavy rhythm that accelerates with every second. He can’t tell if it’s fear or anticipation his chest is burning with. Maybe both. It’s enough to have him practically flying through the intricate maze of buildings, boots clicking sharply on cobblestone ground. He knows he’s being reckless, but he can’t help it. It’s been so long.

The steps to the back door seem cleaner than the last time he came, as if someone had expected his arrival and tidied up in advance. Yanjun rattles the door knob. It’s locked, and that’s a good thing; he’d have a bone to pick with a certain someone if it weren’t.

He wraps his hand around the door knob, breathes out a few words, and feels the lock disengage, opening with a soft _click_. The door swings open easily, and he steps through.

As he carefully twists the handle shut behind him, he takes in the musty aroma of the back room, almost comforting in its familiarity. The wooden boards whine under his weight, creaking incorrigibly and only getting older. Someone should really replace them, but banyan wood is hard to come by and even harder to tame.

“Wenjun?” a clear voice calls out, through the din of clinking vials and rustling leaves. “Did you forget something? I thought Zhengting was expecting you.”

Yanjun takes deliberate steps through the short hallway, letting the sound of each time his boot heel hits the ground reverberate. 

“Wenjun, whatever joke you’re trying to play, it isn’t gonna work.” Yanjun smiles at the irritated fondness he’s come to miss. The voice that fills his memories hasn’t changed at all. “Just get your stuff and go, I won’t be held responsible for keeping you late.”

Finally, he reaches the mouth of the hall, standing in the doorway that connects the strip of empty space to the front room. “Hi,” he says, trying and failing to keep the smile out of his voice. “Have you eaten yet?”

He’s expecting this next part, but it still makes his heart rate go up every time.

The person stocking the shelves along the wall doesn’t hesitate to whip a knife out of the sheath Yanjun knows he hides on the inside of his leg and send it flying towards him, deadly point aiming straight for his face. Nimbly, he steps out of the way and pinches the handle a millisecond before it thuds into the wall. “How have you been? Are you hungry?”

“I hate you.” Yanjun trails his eyes up the familiar figure, taking in the new clothes, the hands on his hips, pausing briefly at his lips, and then flicking up to his eyes. He really hasn’t changed at all. “I really do. Why do you have to do this every time? You could have dropped a message, told me you were coming like a normal person, come in through the front door like a not-criminal.”

Yanjun can’t resist a smile. “I missed you too, Zhangjing.”

“Come here, you idiot,” and then Zhangjing’s pinching his cheeks, mussing his hair, squeezing him in a hug so tight he can barely breathe. “Idiot. Next time give me a heads up, will you?”

“You and I both know that’s not gonna happen,” Yanjun laughs, hugging him back.

It’s been a while. He’d almost forgotten how perfectly Zhangjing’s head fit into the crook of his neck whenever they embraced, how his hands, strong and deft yet so gentle, clutched him tightly and refused to let go. “The point about coming in through the front door like a not-criminal still stands.”

“I am a criminal, though,” Yanjun says, as Zhangjing pokes a finger into his dimple. “And the sign on the door says ‘closed’.”

“You know what I mean,” says Zhangjing, eyes narrowed. “Don’t be difficult.”

Yanjun smiles, relaxing into Zhangjing’s arms. “I can’t promise anything.”

“Idiot,” Zhangjing mutters, and buries his head into Yanjun’s neck. “I missed you,” he whispers against Yanjun’s skin.

Yanjun feels his heart wrench open inside his chest. “I missed you too,” he says back, kissing the top of Zhangjing’s head.

“How long are you here for this time?”

“Only for tonight,” Yanjun says. He can feel Zhangjing frowning into his neck. “I took the first chance I had to come see you.”

“Do you think they’ll ever let you come back?” Zhangjing asks, arms hugging tighter around Yanjun’s waist. “And live with me?”

Yanjun breathes out a sigh, rubbing Zhangjing’s back gently. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully.

Zhangjing lifts his head off Yanjun’s shoulder and stands on his tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips. Yanjun lets his eyes flutter shut as he kisses back, taking the feeling of having Zhangjing in his arms and carving it in into his brain, another memory to tide him over until next time they can meet again.

Another kiss, and another. Yanjun hasn’t let himself feel this vulnerable in months. Zhangjing’s hands roam over his body with increasing urgency and it isn’t long before Yanjun finds himself with his back against the wall, head rolling back as Zhangjing trails kisses down his neck.

“What are you doing?” he laughs breathily, hands clutched into the fabric of Zhangjing’s shirt. Each time Zhangjing’s lips touch his neck, it sets off a spark that races through his body, leaving a burning tingle in its wake.

Zhangjing’s hands slip into his cloak and under his shirt, slowly mapping out his back with iron-hot fingers. “It’s been too long since last time,” he murmurs, kissing along Yanjun’s jawline. “I almost forgot what you feel like.”

“Lao You, is your memory starting to fail you?” Yanjun huffs out, even as his hands scrabble at Zhangjing’s hips, searing the feeling of his body into his hands.

“Shut up,” says Zhangjing, tangling his hands into Yanjun’s hair and kissing his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, before returning to his lips. “You’re so annoying. I’m not that old.”

Yanjun has no chance to retort before Zhangjing moves back to his neck, slowly nibbling his way down with the patience of an immortal. Mind utterly consumed by the sensation of Zhangjing’s teeth on his skin, Yanjun lets Zhangjing take control.

 

“Want some porridge?” Zhangjing asks, ten minutes later, after he had surveyed Yanjun’s messed up hair and reddened neck skin and smirked in satisfaction.

“You’re so unfair,” Yanjun groans, limbs weak and unwilling to move. “How can you ask that so casually while I’m like this?”

“What’s unfair, hmm?” Zhangjing asks, one eyebrow raised, before he bursts into giggles. “Come on, you must be hungry. This one just happens to have your favorite mushrooms.”

“Okay,” he says, letting Zhangjing drag him upstairs to the little apartment above the shop, seat him at the dining table, and heat up some porridge for him. “It smells good.”

Zhangjing smiles, kissing his cheek. “Welcome home.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> fuck


End file.
